Fitz had meant to find Daisy to ask her about vibrational signals they might be able to let out every night in the hopes Jemma could pick up on it. Course the answer would probably have been no, what with attracting every alien in the fucking universe to this dark age planet. But it was a point worth asking. Or at least he'd thought so until he'd found Daisy, and well…wading into the swarm of twenty something small children having a snowball fight was not happening. Kids were vicious little biters, especially the type that thought chucking snowballs at each other was fun. Daisy clearly lacked all self-preservation instincts, so normal behavior for her, and was gleefully stomping about like some sort of Godzilla with children hanging off of her.
He ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Rats." Wading down there to get Daisy's attention would be suicide. And calling out to her would just give her 'ideas'. Ideas that would involve trying to cram frozen slush down the back of his neck.
Crann sniggered at his predicament, damned assistant. "I believe her Holiness is occupied at the moment."
"I c-can see that. Thanks." The sarcasm was thick as he considered what to do. It wasn't like the paper, or new printing press he was working on were particularly difficult. The massive sewer system he'd designed for them had at least kept him busy for a couple of days, but now he was just…puttering.
The crunching of snow caught his attention. He looked to the side and spotted the party of three men approaching him. Course he recognized Greatjon, loud asshole that he was, but the other two weren't people he knew. "Who're t-they?"
"Tha's Lord Royce and Lord Baelish of the Vale." Crann frowned, dislike on his face.
Fitz grumbled under his breath. Fuck, he knew who that was. "W-well that's unfortunate."
"If we make for the workshop, we could avoid them?" Crann offered.
He groaned, nope he owed Daisy and he knew what his role was in all this. His eyes narrowed as he took in Lord Baelish, did the man have to look like he'd stepped out of an evil fashion magazine? Were assholes just wearing stylish blacks just a thing across worlds? It was depressing. Why couldn't evil have bad fashion for once? It was just gauche. And if the Doctor had preferred black suits, well that wasn't a factor in his feelings on the matter.
Looking away from the approaching conversation he was going to be trapped in he blew out a long breath, watching his exhale crystalize into a mist before him. He snorted as he watched several kids decide tackling Daisy was a good idea, sending all of them down into a heap. Daisy was making very dramatic noises about 'betrayal' and 'death'.
"Fitz!" Greatjon greeted, his voice booming as he reached him. "Odd to see you out of your workshop!"
He rocked back on his heels. "I r-require sunlight or Daisy'll drag me out." Probably a lie, but fuck it he wasn't happy about having to bother with local politics. And…well she might actually do it, probably. Things were still weird since their argument so maybe not?
Greatjon laughed, his hand slamming down on Fitz's shoulder in some sort of macho thing. "Aye, she would at that." He waived to the men beside him. "This here is Lord Royce of Runestone and Lord Baelish of the Fingers. They were hoping to meet our resident god."
"She's b-busy." Fitz ignored the fact he had no doubt that behind him Daisy likely had a small child dumping snow over the top of her head.
The smarmy, pencil mustached, and goateed man who frankly looked like a weasel, spoke up. "A shame, I had so hoped to be able to speak with her Holiness."
"G-good luck with that." Fitz could practically feel the ingratiating ass-kissing wafting from the man.
Lord Royce however spoke up, his voice gruff. "Surely she can be pulled away from her diversion."
Greatjon laughed. "Diversion? Naw, she always makes time for the kids. Has a right soft spot for 'em."
"A woman's sensibility." Lord Baelish smiled, it felt slimy, a politician's expression.
Fitz, Crann, and Greatjon all laughed at that.
Fitz wiped at his eye. "Please say that t-to her face." He glanced up and down the ponce. While Daisy hadn't told him most of her reason for her loathing of the man, he'd been able to read enough between the lines.
"I fail to see the humor? Surely even gods are allowed their delicacies?" Baelish was weighing their reactions.
And Fitz, well he knew exactly what he and Daisy had discussed. It was almost a shame to prevent this man from giving Daisy an excuse. "D-daisy is a lot of things. But d-delicate isn't one of them." At least not in a way random creepos could use against her. Fitz neatly ignored the thrum of guilt at the knowledge of exactly how delicate Daisy could be if you knew her.
"Oh, what would you call her then?" Baelish's attention was so calculated in its lightness.
Fitz shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his trousers, which yes proper trousers. He'd had to ask but they were worth it. "Dangerous." He cocked his head. "D-do you know how many humans she's k-killed? Not m-monsters and other gods, just p-people?"
"Surely as a warrior she's killed a great many." Lord Royce scoffed. "That is no secret."
Fitz knew it was bullshit, Daisy's actual kill count wasn't that large really. But if you squinted at the timeline enough it did work out. "Over seven b-billion. Not a million, billion. I t-think it's getting closer to eight now. T-there's a saying in my world. W-where she goes, death f-follows. We d-don't worship her. She's my friend, she likes h-humans, but she's not one. And you s-seem to think her restrained p-powers are impressive. She's a t-tap holding back an ocean and you seem to think the d-drops are her power. So f-for now we are here. A-and if you are lucky we will leave without you seeing what she is c-capable of."
He closed his eyes as a snowball impacted the side of his neck. He could feel the frozen slush dripping down the side of his neck. Fitz opened his eyes while reaching up in disgust. "DAISY!"
"You're being broody!" She grinned as she hollered at him, unrepentantly.
He gave a sharp nod. Right. Fitz looked at the men. "Excuse me." Then he swooped down, scooping up a handful of slush, and turned to return fire. "GET B-BACK HERE!"
Fitz was panting as he lay in the snow, his feet half up a small lump of snow. His lungs burned from the cold air, sweat soaking into his shirt where slush hadn't already soaked him. The pleasant ache of muscles used. He looked up at the small child staring down at him. "D-did we win?"
/
Sansa brushed her brother's shoulders off. "Black really is your color."
"Always was." Jon chuckled as he glanced at his clothing. "This is a bit much isn't it?"
She raised a brow at him. "You're a prince and Hand of the Queen. You're properly dour by those standards."
He touched the snarling white wolf curling around his color. "I like the wolf bit?"
"You know if we survive the Long Night you're going to have to learn to pay at least some small attention to your clothing." Sansa smiled at the expression on his face. It was the one he'd worn in childhood whenever he and Robb had been forced to get cleaned up for feasts. "You're important now."
His shoulders slumped. "I don't know what I'd do if I survive this. Sleep?"
"You'll be given Moat Cailin and found a cadet branch of House Stark," Sansa replied automatically. "So marriage, family, and continuing to serve as my Hand."
He opened his mouth silently before shaking his head with a huff. "You have it all figured out don't you?"
"I try." She replied dryly. "Now, there was a message from our party sent to Essos." She handed him the very fat letter that had arrived by rider in the night.
Jon accepted it, opening the parchment and reading the contents. His brow furrowed as he took in the words. "The Ironbank accepted our envoy?"
"Yes, no agreement has been settled, but Lady Flint and Lord Moss both think they will have good news for us inside this turn of the moon. They've also acquired fifty ships and begun making contracts for trade." Sansa could practically feel the relief at the news contained in the letter. It was a sign that her gamble with trade could pay off and feed them and theirs for the winter.
Jon set the letter aside. "That's good, if Daisy makes glass for glasshouses for the rest of the North it will keep food in men's bellies."
"She's agreed to go to White Harbor and the Widow's Tower tomorrow to make glass for them." Sansa was fairly sure eventually everyone would ask, but it would need to be them asking for Daisy to do it for them.
He straightened the cuffs of his shirt. "Good, that's good." Jon frowned slightly. "Why not just ask Daisy to make glass for all of our Houses?"
"Because I can't be seen to constantly be ordering Daisy around like a pet. Even if she'd do it, it would dilute appearances. With her powers, a delay in them asking her can be survived. It further establishes worship of the old gods besides." Sansa had realized the religious future of her kingdom some time ago. "The North won't have worship of the Seven or any other god save the old gods within five years. A change we want considering the Faith of the Seven has never been kind to Queens."
Jon touched her arm gently. "Aye, I can see why that'd be important. But…you always prayed in the sept as a girl?"
"The Seven never answered my prayers." Sansa could see the lack of understanding of the depth of what she was saying. So she continued. "I don't pray to the gods any longer. They don't care for our lives and pleas. But the old gods are a part of the North. They're a part of us, like the earth and the sky. It helps to know they are real, tangible even. The Seven? If they are real they have no place for a woman like me, I see no reason to diminish myself for approval by gods who do not care nor are bound to us.." After all, she was a woman in power, risen above living male relatives, given shelter to a rival god, and desired a woman.
He nodded to her words. "Aye, can't say I ever gave much bother to the new gods. But just…if it's important to you you don't have to lose that."
"I stopped praying to them years ago." She laid her hand on his upper arm. "I'm sacrificing nothing. Besides, it's not as if I intend to drive out worship of them, merely that it will die on its own."
Jon's shoulder softened, the warm kindness that cut so wonderfully, painted across his face. "Good. I worry about you. I know you're Queen and can handle yourself but it's still my job to protect you."
Sansa stepped into her brother, hugging him because she could because he was there and she wasn't alone. "We're pack."
He hummed in the affirmative holding her back just as tightly. Reluctantly he released her from his embrace, stepping back. "Lady Dustin wishes to speak with me before the small council meeting?"
"It'll be about her royal guard proposal. She's already spoken to Daisy about it. I assume you can handle the project?" Sansa was honestly relieved to be able to leave guard details to someone she trusted and someone who knew the first thing about such things instead of having to try and do it herself. The relief of having her brother by her side as a stalwart pillar of strength was breathtaking.
Jon actually looked faintly excited at the prospect. "Good, I know with two sworn swords you're safer now, but you need a proper guard."
"Yes, well I trust you to handle it." Sansa lifted her cloak off the back of the chair. "For now I believe I am required to listen to petitions until the small council meeting."
Her brother handed her her gloves. "I'll speak with Lady Dustin then. We'll need to discuss where best to put the Vale armies when they arrive. It may only be a few hundred knights now, but with them pledged to us we'll need their armies soon."
"If we could spread them between several strongholds closer to the Wall and get them digging ditches I assume that would help?" She checked. Her brother's strategy for the dead seemed to keep the army spread and able to move to any one location quickly. Also ditches, he'd been very passionate about digging ditches everywhere a ditch would go.
He smiled, clearly proud. "Aye, that is likely what will be best. But we can discuss it at the meeting later."
"Good, until then." She smiled as they stood for a moment, united and prepared to face the world together. And then she was leaving the room, Loras falling into step behind her as she walked towards the public royal hall.
Sansa noted the perhaps forty men of the Vale attending court. The presence of Lord Royce and Baelish wasn't surprising, though why they were particularly pale, she wasn't sure. Actually, she faintly realized she'd rarely if ever seen Baelish look that disquieted…Daisy, Daisy had definitely done something. She nearly sighed outright in fond exasperation, not that she allowed the feeling to show on her face. Instead, she focused on her first petitioner.
/
Lord Royce was honored to be invited to the later part of the small council meeting. He was impressed with the North, he was impressed by Sansa, and impressed by the court that had been formed here. Everything was running well, superfluous actions or people didn't seem to exist here. No such thing as a pointless courtier, the nobility all had jobs and it didn't seem to be doubted that if they weren't busy they'd have a job found for them. Those ladies of the court were turning out gambesons, banners, shirts, and a hundred other needed fabrics at a rate that was inspiring.
He ached with a desire to turn and find Ned Stark and tell him 'look at what you're children are doing? Aren't you so proud?'. But that man was gone, and his brilliant, talented children were the legacy he'd left behind for the North. And this small council? Gods be good it was a group of men selected for ability from across the North. But not just the North, Davos of the Stormlands was there, a Wildling man. It was a representation of the whole of Sansa's kingdom.
Jon set one of the newly carved wooden and lead filled tokens representing the Vale forces onto the map. "You say three moons for the full might of the Vale to reach Winterfell?" He looked up at him.
"Yes, the roads are in better repair than expected. We've already ordered our banners called and men assembled." Lord Royce replied, he could see the shape of the northern strategy for the war and he approved.
Jon's lips twitched upwards at that, his eyes flicking to his sister briefly before returning to the matter at hand. "Good, once they arrive your army will need to be split into four and placed here." He pointed to one of the northernmost keeps, and then three other keeps spanning the breadth of the North before the New Gift. "We make these keeps fall back points should the Wall fall. It also keeps the army close enough to the Wall that once we know where the Dead mean to attack we can fortify there."
Lord Royce wished he was a younger man, a man who might ride in the front lines beside a general like Jon. By spreading the army it also spread the burden on the supply lines. "And keeps the supply lines easier to protect." Because no single location would cripple the entire army.
"There is that as well." Jon picked up another block representing the Vale. "Now, since Harrenhall is Lord Baelish's it also would be wise to man it, and man it well. It'll slow down any southern attempts to hamper your men's travel north."
Lord Baelish spoke. "You can't mean to take the Riverlands now?"
"Not yet," Sansa spoke from where she had been silently allowing her brother to run the more military matters. "However they are the route the south will be forced to attack. If Cersei means to prevent our alliance that is where she will attempt to waylay your army."
Jon continued for her. "And we need your army here. Once the Long Night is over we can worry about the south and the rest of it. Securing your men's approach will allow them to move faster as well."
Lord Royce regretted his age as he knelt before the statue of the Father in the small sept of Winterfell. It wasn't a large building and clearly hadn't been used by anyone in perhaps years. But his soul had required prayer, guidance even. So he was here, kneeling before the Father asking for wisdom. The North was not what he'd expected.
His knees were protesting when he smelt the sweet scent of incense and the steps of someone else in the sept. He felt something ease at the sound of another worshiper, someone else lighting the candles for each of the Seven. The gentle respect of the incense filling the small sept. A sign of that perhaps even amongst these heathens true faith yet remained. With a last silent prayer, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up towards his feet.
His left knee caught, an old war injury. It was likely the mix of the cold stones and the long day he'd spent on his feet. With a jolt, he started to go straight back down to his knees, only to be caught under the elbow by a strong hand. Royce steadied himself, the hand dropping as soon as his feet were properly under him. "Thank you, old war wound acting up." He turned to see his helper only to freeze. "You."
The foreign god had taken a respectful half step back. Her face was tilted towards him with a thoughtful expression, far neater and drier clothing than those he'd last seen her wearing. "Don't worry about it, injuries like to sneak up on you like that."
"How…" He looked around the inside of the sept briefly. "How are you here?"
She looked faintly amused. "I don't have any conflict with your gods that I know of. At least I'm ninety percent sure I've never met them. Which means they probably don't care one bit about me and I like the incense not going to lie. I grew up with nuns and like, it's all nostalgic." The god smiled, her voice was calm as she explained her presence. "Fitz said you wanted to speak with me, Lord Royce?"
"Yes, I'd hoped to speak with you, your Holiness." Royce allowed as he settled. "I can call for a chaperone?"
The god let out a laugh, it was light and musical though brief. "Unless you would like a chaperone I believe we're fine." Her smile was fond. "I doubt you plan to impinge upon my honor. And I think we both know my taste runs younger and far prettier than you."
"You have a point." He considered her, she wasn't what he'd expected. But then he didn't know what to expect. "Do you prefer to be addressed as your Holiness?"
She hummed, stepping to one of the smooth benches and calmly sitting down. "You'll fit in here better if you do, but honestly I don't care. You can just call me Daisy, at least when we're speaking if you want. And I'm not your god, as long as you're not blatantly rude, I really don't mind."
"You are not insulted that I would worship different gods?" Royce found himself asking if it was…perhaps too direct but this whole meeting felt surreal as he sat on a bench opposite the god facing her curiously.
Shaking her head, the god remained calm. "I'm not the type of god people usually worship. I'm the Destroyer of Worlds, and I'm fairly young. It's not like worship affects me either. I can't hear prayers, it doesn't give me power or take away power. Why would I care? Besides there are other gods besides me, I've met quite a few of them. What is to say your gods aren't real?" She looked at him curiously. "Why would I even want you to worship me? Like no offense or anything but like..eh?"
"You truly hold no censure against those who worship gods besides yourself?" Royce wondered at her. If he'd imagined meeting some dark god this isn't what his mind would have conjured.
She shrugged, the ease and simple confidence should have been grating but it wasn't. "No."
"Why seek me out here then?" Because it felt like it should be a threat, yet there was a distinct lack of hostility.
And she just grinned. "You wanted to talk to me." She seemed to finally fall serious. "And fair warning. Any of your knights think to attack me or mine and I'll boil them alive from the inside out." She flicked a finger, every candle's flame in the sept turning pure blue with heat with a wave of power before fading back to the warm reds and yellows of normal fire.
Lord Royce swallowed thickly, his heart beating faster in his chest. "My knights would never be so uncouth as to break guest rite." He knew exactly why this threat, the reports of the near assassination of the Queen had been chilling.
She softened again. "Then I think we'll be just fine."
And he had to wonder how true that was? He did find that he was deeply grateful that this creature was at least nominally on the same side as them. Surviving the army of the Dead might just be possible after all.